


A Moment Longer

by abblepie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Body Swap, Bodyswap, Canon Compliant, Don’t copy to another site, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Footnotes, Light Angst, M/M, first fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-11 23:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19935967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abblepie/pseuds/abblepie
Summary: “Oh, come now,” Crawly purred. “That’s hardly enough of a look.” Feeling emboldened by the angel’s general lack of smiting, he elbowed him gently. It earned him a surprised but not entirely unpleasant look. “Have you been down there yourself?”“Er, briefly, yes,” Aziraphale admitted. “To give the humans… well.” He made a little motion with his right hand, flattening the palm and moving it up and down. Crawly raised an eyebrow in confusion. Aziraphale sighed. He glanced up, then back down, and quickly whispered, “The sword.”“Ah,” Crawly said, as though he’d already forgotten. (He certainly hadn’t.) “Well, that was for business, not pleasure.” Aziraphale shot him a confused look out of the corner of his eye. Crawly didn’t really blame him. Business wasn’t a thing yet, after all, but Crawly was already cooking up some particularly devious ideas involving stocks and the crashing thereof.For thousands of years, a demon has been falling in love with an angel. In the moments between scenes, he learns to trust it.





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Essentially, I've had this show rattling around in my brain since I watched it, and then I read the book as well and decided to write something about it.
> 
> It's more of a collection of scenes than anything else, following the plot of the T.V. series, but with conversations I feel might have happened after certain scenes cut out.
> 
> This is my first dip into writing instead of reading fanfiction! I'll probably write more in the future that's more plot focused (if you have any suggestions, let me know. I'm interested in playing with Memory and with Demon Aziraphale), but for now, this is what I have to offer the fandom.
> 
>  **Also, a note on the Footnotes.** I'm still getting used to the formatting on AO3, and so there may be some issues with links and such... Just imagine me running around in the background, flipping switches and yelling along with an alarm as I try to figure it out.

It all started on the wall in the garden. Two man-shaped beings stood on the edge of their world, watching the humans heading out over the sandy dunes. The angel, Aziraphale, cast Crawly the softest look he’d seen since the Fall. Not that it was very hard to fit that description, mind you. The Serpent, creator of Original Sin, did not get very many soft looks nowadays. Still, it filled Crawly with a flicker of unfamiliar, not entirely welcome warmth. The demon shifted under the curious blue gaze, uncomfortable with this forgotten feeling. He very seriously felt the need to shift his companion's - _acquaintance's_ \- demeanor a bit.

“Well,” the demon drawled in an effort to be difficult. “That went down like a lead balloon.”

The angel glanced over at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

There, a look of confusion. It wasn’t quite the disgust he’d been hoping for, but it was better than soft, unassuming curiosity. Damn that apologetic frown, though.

“I said, that went down like a lead balloon.” As though enunciating would help. It didn’t. 

Of course, by the time the angel told him he’d given away his flaming sword, Crawly was awestruck. Unfortunately, eternally awestruck.

When the first drops of rain began, Crawly instinctively shifted towards the angel’s side. The angel, in turn, lifted his wing to cover Crawly from the rain. It was a pathetic instinct for a demon to seek any sort of protection from an angel, for sure. Still, the warm proximity sent another flicker of light through Crawly, so he didn’t really focus on that aspect. He’d just created Original Sin, for Someone’s sake. He deserved a little break.

They stood there for a long while. Crawly wasn’t exactly sure what to do, where to go next. Time had only just started to exist, and Crawly wasn’t great at managing it yet. He glanced over at the angel.

Aziraphale frowned out at the sand, worrying his lip between his teeth. The rain plastered his curls to his forehead. Crawly followed his blue eyes out over the dunes.

The humans - Eve and Adam, Crawly recalled - were holding on to each other’s hands against the coming storm. From this distance, they looked more like one form than two separate beings. If they could stay together, Crawly mused, they would have a better chance out there.[1]

A very long time passed, and the humans finally disappeared over several dunes. The rain slowed from a pour to a drizzle[2] to nothing. Crawly glanced up at the wing above his head, shielding him from nothing but the brightening sky. The feathers looked soft and sweet ( _Shut up_ ) like clouds, but a few secondaries were out of place. His fingers itched to fix them.

“Er,” Crawly started, with no words to follow it.

“Oh.” Aziraphale had been deep in thought, it seemed, and hadn’t noticed the rain stop. He pulled his wing back to himself. Crawly felt the flicker of warmth in his chest die down [3] as the angel pulled his divine grace back into himself. He shifted a step away, giving Crawly space.

“Now what?” Crawly asked. He flicked his forked tongue out, tasting the air. It was dusty and clean all at the same time. That was new.

Aziraphale looked surprised that the demon was still talking to him. “Oh. Er. I assumed that you would…” He waved his hands vaguely before seeming to remember himself and clasping them in front. “Go make yourself busy.”

“Make myself busy?” Crawly raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you suggesting I go stir up more trouble?”

Aziraphale said nothing, his lips in a thin line as he quickly glanced at the demon. Crawly smirked. “Not suggesting it,” Aziraphale said finally. “But expecting it, perhaps?”

Crawly shrugged, ruffling his wings a bit as he rolled his shoulders. One brushed against Aziraphale’s. He tried not to feel insulted as the angel shifted his own out of the way. “Nah. I think I deserve a rest after that one. Otherwise I’d seem too diligent. Not a good look for a demon.” He looked over at Aziraphale again, noticing - or imagining - his shoulders relax slightly at those words.

“No, I suppose not. Not that I’d know anything about being a demon. Er,” Aziraphale ended his sentence gracefully.

Crawly scoffed. “Nah, course not. More my department.” He glanced over his shoulder into the garden. “So, Guardian of the Eastern Gate,” he said, teasingly stressing each word. “Want to take a look at exactly what you’ve been guarding?”

With surprising compliance, Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder briefly. “Yes, yes, it’s quite beautiful,” he muttered. After a moment, though, he turned back out to the desert, brow furrowed.

“Oh, come now,” Crawly purred. “That’s hardly enough of a look.” Feeling emboldened by the angel’s general lack of smiting, he elbowed him gently. It earned him a surprised but not entirely unpleasant look. “Have you been down there yourself?”

“Er, briefly, yes,” Aziraphale admitted. “To give the humans… well.” He made a little motion with his right hand, flattening the palm and moving it up and down. Crawly raised an eyebrow in confusion. Aziraphale sighed. He glanced up, then back down, and quickly whispered, “The sword.”

“Ah,” Crawly said, as though he’d already forgotten. (He certainly hadn’t.) “Well, that was for business, not pleasure.” Aziraphale shot him a confused look out of the corner of his eye. Crawly didn’t really blame him. Business wasn’t a thing yet, after all, but Crawly was already cooking up some particularly devious ideas involving stocks and the crashing thereof. “I mean, did you really take a good look around? Run your fingers through the leaves? Savor a berry, dip your toes in the cool streams?”

Aziraphale’s blue eyes settled on Crawly for a long moment. There was something in there that Crawly recognized, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“I don’t think that would be right,” the angel said softly.

Crawly groaned, squinting up at the clearing sky. “Come on, angel. We’ve been over this. You are an angel, ergo you can do no wrong.”

Aziraphale frowned. His face would stick that way, if he wasn’t careful. “Yes, well, that’s quite reassuring to hear, especially coming from you-” _ouch_ “-but…” His fingers were laced tightly in front of himself. Crawly wondered if that helped him contain himself, all the doubts and questions that Crawly realized, with wonder, were bubbling just beneath the surface.

Crawly was so focused on trying to figure out the angel that he was caught by surprise as his gaze was returned. Aziraphale looked at Crawly’s back, at the large black wings, and seemed to scrutinize them. It made Crawly feel prickly, being under that gaze and not knowing why. Demons were usually held under angelic gazes for bad reasons. The angel was probably looking for weak points, joints that could be easily broken even without the help of a flaming sword. Crawly self consciously drew his wings in to himself, making the target smaller.

Aziraphale blinked, breaking out of whatever thought he’d been having. “Well. I just mean, it doesn’t seem right. For me to enjoy what they’ve been banished from.” He nodded out at the endless expanse of sand.

Crawly blinked. “You’re worried about them. Like, genuinely.”

Aziraphale frowned at the sand. “Well, I am an angel. Of course I am.”

Crawly scoffed internally. He doubted the Guardian of the Western gate was having this same moral quandary. “Yeah, sure. But if you’re worried about them, that means you think something bad might happen to them.”

“I’d argue that something bad has already happened to them, Serpent,” Aziraphale muttered, fixing Crawly with a look. For the first time, Crawly broke away first. He stared out at the sand, trying very hard not to feel guilty.

He pushed on. “I mean, sure, that wasn’t the best reaction. Not ideal. But they’re still Her children. She wouldn’t cast them out and leave them to sssuffer alone, would Ssshe?” He’d meant it to be a jab at the angel, but surprised himself by the amount of hissing venom he finished with. He couldn’t look at Aziraphale, couldn’t bring himself to see whatever pitiful or righteous expression might be in his eyes as he looked at the pathetic, crawling demon next to him. Crawly coughed awkwardly against the silence.

“I mean to say,” he rushed on, consciously controlling the hiss, “They’ll be okay. And if you think they won’t be-” He tried to shoot the angel a sharp look, but could only focus as high as his clasped hands “-then maybe I’m not the only one on this wall who’s doubted the Ineffable Plan.” He pitched his voice in a poor mimicry of the angel’s tone.

Aziraphale stiffened next to him, glancing up again. His wings fluffed slightly, bristling. Crawly tensed, half expecting him to strike him for his words. After a moment, though, the tension in the angel lessened. He glanced at the demon and bumped him slightly with a white wing. “You know,” he said softly, “It’s quite sweet of you to try and comfort me.”

Crawly, though very new to having a stomach, though he might be sick. “Eaugh,” he choked, taking a step away. “I am not… _sssweet_.” He shot his wings open, ignoring the amused look on Aziraphale’s face. 

“Have fun worrying over the humans,” he spat, stepping towards the edge of the Garden wall, towards Eden. “I’m gonna go wile some rabbits before I get crushed by some boulder She decides to drop on me or something. Have fun wasting your time staring at sand because you’re too shoddy an angel to trust in your stupid Plan.” Well, it wasn’t tactful, but at least it was more demonic in substance than what he’d been saying a few moments before.

“Oh really, Crawly,” the angel started in an achingly chastising tone, but Crawly didn’t listen. Instead he let out a long hiss as he sunk down the wall of Eden, slipping into his scales like slipping into a hot bath[4]. If he was lucky, he’d never have to see that bloody angel again. Really, he thought to himself as he found a warm rock in the sun to bask on, he couldn’t be happier if he never even heard mention of Aziraphale again.

\------

_Footnotes_

1Crawly had seen them doing other things before the apple, things that seemed to maybe be painful or maybe felt good. It was a bit unsettling to watch, what with all those parts, but in a way Crawly felt a bit jealous of the closeness. They’d held each other afterwards, all warm and sleepy. Jealousy was alright, but jealousy of something warm like that? Probably not the best idea.[return to text]

2Fantastic new words, those.[return to text]

3Mercifully? Disappointingly? both were horrible, undemonic thoughts. And by horrible, he meant lovely. Lovely was horrible. It makes sense if you don't think about it. Shut up.[return to text]

4While baths didn't technically exist yet, they would soon in the grand scheme of things. And once they did, oh boy. Crawly was going to enjoy the Something out of them.[return to text]


	2. In the End

But, of course, Crowley [1]did see the angel again. And again, and again. In a very nice and accurate way, it could be said that they met several dozen times over then next six-thousand years. 

At some point, embarrassingly, Crowley had started thinking of Aziraphale as _his_ angel[2]. Not that he’d admit that much in words.

Of course, Cowley wasn’t stupid. Well, maybe he was a fool. He _had_ spent thousands of years aching for a closeness he’d first seen between Eve and Adam. It had been in their clasped hands, in their love and solidarity as they faced the unknown together.

Specifically, he ached for that closeness with Aziraphale. Yet, he had done nothing about it except making an effort to entertain the angel with what humans might call _dates_ , taking him for dinner and bringing him chocolates and rare copies of books which he’d gotten through dubious, but unquestioned, means.

So yes, Crowley was definitely a fool, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that Aziraphale was at least marginally interested in that closeness, as well. The fact that the angel hadn’t smote - _smited?_ No, definitely smote - Crowley for a few thousand years at least suggested that Aziraphale may not entirely view Crowley with the pointed animosity that he was likely expected to hold against his most prominent enemy.

Still, Crowley had his doubts[3]. And so, he made it his duty to count each touch they shared, however brief, holding the sliver of divinity close to his heart[4].

-

Time passed, and many dramatic and amazing things happened[5], and Crowley had watched as the angel regrettably returned his sword to the delivery man, and then it was the two of them again.

He could hardly believe that the angel had taken up his offer to stay at his place. More than that, he chose to sit _next_ to Crowley on the bus, instead of their customary angel-in-front demon-over-the-shoulder situation.

They drove in the dark for a few long minutes, the wheels and engine rattling slightly over the bumps in the road. Crowley was exhausted - _Somebody,_ was he exhausted - but before he could doze off himself, he felt the angel beside him slump a bit. He stiffened, worried that something might be wrong with him. Then he felt the soft curls tickle his neck and hear rhythmic, slow breathing. Aziraphale was falling asleep.

“Do you mind, dear boy?” Aziraphale muttered drowsily. His eyes were nearly shut now, his lashes fluttering gently.

Crowley swallowed. “Nah, s’fine.” It was more than fine.

Aziraphale hummed happily, as though he’d heard the private thought, and shifted slightly so his cheek was fully pressed against Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley thought he might combust right then and there if they hadn’t worked so hard to keep the very same thing from happening to the world for the past dozen years.

When the bus driver pulled up, rather confused, to Crowley’s apartment, the demon gave him a nice big tip and led the drowsy angel inside and to the lift with a gentle hand on his elbow. Aziraphale blinked owlishly in the light, pressing his arm against Crowley’s for no real reason.

Crowley’s hand twitched. He went to slip it into his pocket, an old habit to avoid reaching out for the angel’s hand. Before he could, though, he felt Aziraphale’s warm, soft fingers intertwine with his own. He felt light headed at the contact, thinking back to those two humans thrown out into the endless desert with nothing but the angel’s sword and each other. Crowley stood still for so long that the lift doors started to close again.

Aziraphale stopped it with his hand, then tugged Crowley’s arm. “Come on then, you wily Serpent,” he teased. “Lead the way.”

Crowley stepped out of the lift and led Aziraphale to his door, unlocking it with a surprisingly confident snap. When they entered the main hall, Aziraphale gasped. Crowley started to panic, realizing that Aziraphale would probably be able to sense the holy water and the dissolved Ligur. He hadn’t exactly had a chance to clean up from his visitors.

“Er,” he started, “I can explain-”

“They’re beautiful!” Aziraphale interrupted him. The angel was fixated on the plants that covered every inch of wall space. Crowley found himself being tugged along, hand still held firmly by the angel, as he walked to each plant and cooed at them.

“Oh, you really are gorgeous, aren’t you?” Aziraphale reverently brushed a finger along a vibrant green and orange leaf of one of Crowley’s crotons. It pressed against the angel’s touch, and Crowley felt oddly as though he were being mocked. “So sweet, and working so very hard to grow well.” He shot one of his overwhelmingly fond looks at Crowley. 

The demon pushed his sunglasses up further with his free hand and shuffled his feet. Aziraphale sighed, as though making an effort to be irritated. In the end, though, it too felt frustratingly fond.

“They’ll get spoiled if you’re too nice to them,” Crowley warned. His voice was pitched slightly low and trembled with exhaustion, though. It was hardly the convincing snarl of the original Tempter.

His heart nearly ejected from his body when Aziraphale squeezed his hand - _flashes of love._ “Come, dear,” the angel coaxed. “I’d like to look around a little bit. Maybe find a bottle of wine.” He wiggled his eyebrows with all the flair he mustered while doing a magic trick[6]. “I wonder if you have one cozy piece of furniture in this whole flat, hmm?”

Crowley rubbed his neck. Not really. “Erm.”

Aziraphale patted Crowley’s arm with his free hand. “Not to worry, my dear.” The angel really did sound exhausted, as though the lightness in his tone was being carefully maintained. “I’m not too picky.”

_No, of course he wasn’t. Otherwise, he’d hardly have spent six thousand years fraternizing with a demon._

The thought came unbidden to Crowley. He frowned slightly, pushing it back down. The angel’s hand in his own should have been proof that Aziraphale at least didn’t resent his company, but still, some dark insistent worry clawed at the back of Crowley’s mind.

Aziraphale noticed the shift in Crowley’s mood[7] and mirrored it. He released Crowley’s hand suddenly, folding his own together in that familiar nervous movement. Crowley blinked dumbly at him behind his sunglasses, cold jolting into his system at the lack of contact.

“I’m sorry if I’m imposing,” Aziraphale said softly, frowning down at his shoes. “You’re already being so kind, letting me stay here, and for me to try and ask for anything more than that-”

“Ngk,” Crowley cut him off. “It’s not _kind_ -”

“ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale started, but Crowley pushed forward.

“It’s not _kind_. It’s the least I could do. It’s less than you deserve.” Now that they had a moment to rest, the reality of the past few days started to sink in. In this very flat, two dukes of Hell had tried to kill Crowley. _Would_ have killed Crowley. Was he really foolish enough to think that he wasn’t still being watched? That they were really safe? It was dangerous, _he_ was dangerous, for his angel. He took a step back, feeling a tightness rising in his chest along with a whine. Stupid human body. Stupid demon.

“Crowley. My _dear_.” Crowley didn’t realize that his vision had been tunneling until he felt firm hands on his shoulders. He blinked down at his angel, feeling very distant from his flat at the moment. The blue eyes, though, helped to anchor him a bit. After a slow moment, he recognized the tight expression on the angel’s face. Concern. “Now really. What are you going on about?”

Crowley blinked, taking a moment to process Aziraphale’s words. “I…” He took a deep breath. “I’ll grab some wine.” Aziraphale pursed his lips, but let the demon go.

In reality, Crowley kept the small amount of material wine he had in dark, cool room that served as his cellar. They’d already passed it. Instead of backtracking, Crowley headed to his office quickly to figure out what to do with Ligur.

Only, there was no Ligur. There was no melted bucket. When he opened his safe, he found the tartan thermos untouched and, after delicately swishing it, apparently full. Crowley was stumped. The kid must have been very thorough, then. While he was briefly worried by the possibility that Ligur might be alive and plotting revenge, a second, more guiltily conflicting thought occurred to him. The bookshop.

He miracled a bottle of wine from his cellar into his hand and returned to Aziraphale. The angel had found him a couple of wine glasses - possibly, embarrassingly, from the actual wine cellar - and had found his way to the small sitting room. When Crowley entered, the angel was just setting the glasses down on the table. He smiled as the demon came over. 

“Thank you, dear boy,” he said. “It looks lovely.”

Crowley glanced down at the bottle in his hand. It was really nothing special. Still, he nodded and sat down next to the angel. If Aziraphale pursed his lips at the distance between them, Crowley was probably just imagining it.

“Er,” Crowley said, hesitant for possibly the first time ever to open the bottle. “Look, I think…” He rubbed his neck. Honesty wasn’t supposed to be a demon’s strong suit, but he didn’t want to hide something this important from the angel. “I think, maybe, your bookshop isn’t a pile of ash.”

Aziraphale shifted slightly in the seat next to him. “I thought you said it burned down?”

Crowley nodded, shutting his eyes - not that Aziraphale could tell behind his sunglasses, thank Somebody[8]. The image of the flames the heat, the fire of unknown origin consuming all the books and transcripts and scrolls that the angel had treasured so much. Pieces of his soul, nearly. _And possibly, truly, his soul._ Because Crowley hadn’t been sure if it had started from a candle, or from Hellfire.

“Yeah, it definitely did. But, uh, I found some things… fixed, here, that were broken, and I’m wondering…” Crowley stared down at the unopened bottle of wine in front of him.

Aziraphale took in a slow breath, finishing the thought Crowley had started. “You’re wondering if Adam fixed other things. Put them back the way they were.”

Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale reached for his glass as though to take a sip, then seemed to remember that it was empty, and dropped his hands in his lap instead. “Well,” he said with a tint of caution, “If that’s the case, then perhaps the Bentley is back as well?”

Crowley laughed. Even now, the angel was thinking of him. He relaxed a bit at the thought of it, trying to ignore the twisting doubt in the back of his mind. “Maybe so,” he said wistfully. He shuffled the corkscrew between his hands. “Would you rather I give you a lift home?”

In response, Aziraphale set a gentle hand on the demon’s knee. He glanced over his sunglasses at the angel’s soft face. “My dear boy. We’ve had quite a day.” He patted once. “I think I’d very much like to be with you. Wherever you are.”

_Flashes of love._ His face was so full of it that Crowley could almost believe it. His throat tightened as he broke the look. He felt guilty, somehow, like he had on the wall. He tried to swallow it down. “Right, then,” he said, and cracked open the wine.

\----

1 The demon had changed it a while ago. _Crow_ ley, not _Craw_ ly. Please do make an effort. [return to text]

2 Perhaps it was after the run in with those bumbling Nazis at the church? Failed espionage and a flair for the dramatic seemed exactly like the sort of thing his angel would get into. And there, that first _my angel_ , and that was really the end of it, wasn’t it? [return to text]

3 That’s what he was famous for, wasn’t it? Although here, he ironically didn’t voice them aloud. Perhaps he’d learned a lesson from Before. (Fat chance.) [return to text]

4 He’d tried to keep track of the affectionate looks that spread over the angel’s face like sunlight breaking through those first rain clouds on the wall. However, when they’d begun spending more time together near the Apoco-whoops, he’d found they were too numerous to actually count. Crowley couldn’t decide if this meant that perhaps Aziraphale didn’t hate him, or if instead it meant that none of the looks had counted at all. [return to text]

5 Very little of which actually had to do with the demon and the angel, but why don’t you just hush up about it. [return to text]

6 One of those awful, endearing sleight of hand tricks. Not _proper_ magic [return to text]

7 The angel was irritatingly good at reading Crowley’s demeanor, but not so good at translating it. [return to text]

8 Thank himself, really. He was responsible for his fashion choices, after all. [return to text]


	3. To the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the end! I hope you like it :)

They wouldn’t get properly wasted, not tonight. Just enough to shake off the extreme tension in Crowley’s shoulders, until he was slouching against the arm of his couch like he would on his own. Now, though, he had his legs draped over his angel’s lap. Aziraphale gently rubbed a hand back and forth on the demon’s knee, rhythmically, as he sipped his wine.[1]

“Well,” the angel said finally. His cheeks had a bit of a rosy tint to them now, but his blue eyes were just as sharp as ever. “As much as I would love to get properly sloshed, it seems we may have a bit of planning to do tonight.”

Crowley grunted, starting up at the ceiling.

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed. “ _When all is fated and all is done, ye must choose your faces wisely, for soon enough ye will be playing with fire._ ” He recited Agnes Nutter’s final prophecy for what felt like the millionth time of the night. “What do you suppose it means?”

“Ngk,” Crowley said, thinking about the burning steering wheel of the Bentley against his palms. Trying desperately not to think of the smoke billowing from the bookshop into the streets of Soho. He sat up momentarily to refill his glass, then plopped back down into his lounging spot. Not a drop dared spill on him.

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale continued, “Perhaps it means we ought to be careful how we act.” He scoffed. “Lot of good that did us, eh? We _were_ careful for six thousand years. What a waste.” He almost sounded bitter, and his hand tightened slightly on Crowley’s knee. The demon raised an eyebrow at the angel but didn’t interject.

“Fated and done… Well, all that drama with the Horsemen and their lot seems like an end of what was fated, hmm? No more… written Plans. No more Antichrist, really. No more Satan?” He sipped his wine, frowning over the rim.

Crowley snorted. “No more sword.”

Aziraphale scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Good Lord… Good something, anyway. Don’t remind me of that blasted sword.” 

Crowley grinned.

“No, the point is…” Aziraphale took a moment to pick up his train of thought again. It seemed to be quite heavy. “The point is, if all is fated and done, then we need to choose our faces _now_. In a different way than we have been, I expect, or else what was the point of the prophecy?” He sighed. “And the bit about the fire…” He frowned, swirling his wine for a moment. Crowley watched the gears turning in his head, but didn’t speak until after Aziraphale had downed the rest of his glass and poured another.

Perhaps they were getting ‘sloshed,’ after all.

“What’cha think about the fire?”

Aziraphale shook his head, glancing up. Maybe more out of habit than anything. “I just… Well, brimstone and fire and sulfur, and all that. Makes me think of.. Of down there.” Now his eyes glanced down, through Crowley, through the floor.

Crowley straightened slightly, tensing up.

Aziraphale sighed, then continued the thought. “Well, I’ve been wondering if I might, you know…” He lifted his free hand above his head, then lowered it like a dive bombing airplane. He whistled a lowering pitch as he went, then dropped it onto Crowley’s knee with a pitiful explosion sound.

Crowley stiffened at the comedic representation of the literal stuff of nightmares. “Fall?”

Aziraphale flinched. “No need to be crass,” he muttered, downing his glass quickly. 

Crowley shifted. "But if you... Fell," which didn't even bear thinking about, "What could they possibly do to _me?_ "

Aziraphale shrugged. “Maybe it isn't that, then. It just seems like the ultimate punishment for an angel, doesn’t it? At least, _they_ would think so.” He lifted an eyebrow, a curious expression spreading over his face. He glanced over at Crowley, fixing his eyes on his sunglasses with such intensity that the demon was surprised they didn’t melt right off his face. Crowley swallowed.

Aziraphale shrugged, looking away. “But, well. That wouldn’t make much sense with the whole _choice_ part of the prophecy. It wouldn’t really be choosing if…” He trailed off, grip tightening on the stem.

Crowley sat up totally now, wondering what was happening behind his angel’s face. He wasn’t sure whether to be worried or excited. A frantic voice in his head was running around, flipping on alarms and emergency lights. If he didn’t know better, he would be worried that his angel was suggesting _choosing_ to Fall - which was both probably impossible, and definitely insane.

“Yes?” he prompted tensely, setting his glass down on the coffee table.

“Well.” Aziraphale followed suit, shifting his whole body towards Crowley and resting both palms on the demon’s knees. He leaned forward. “Do you remember when I was discorporated?”

Crowley scrunched his face painfully. “Yeah, angel. Hard to forget something like that, what with all the flames and sirens and you being-”

Aziraphale waved a hand, so caught in his idea that he cut the demon off. “Yes, yes, but _after_ all that. When I came back, and I mentioned possessing your body.”

“And we agreed it would probably blow up the world, yeah,” Crowley drawled. His brain was working to catch up. Perhaps he ought to sober up, although he didn’t think that would be helpful in a net sort of sense. He might be a bit slow to the draw right now, but at least he wasn’t panicking wildly.

“Well, _I_ said it might, and _you_ said _'Ngk'_ or something similarly eloquent.” Crowley’s ears burned at the impersonation of himself. 

“Okay, angel, fair,” he conceded. “But what’s your point?”

“My point is,” he started. He was really grinning widely, really putting on a voice now. He slouched back against the couch, then threw his legs over Crowley’s lap. “My _point_ is. Dolphins.”

Crowley gaped. “Great Somebody,” he whispered. “What are you on about? You’re acting all... Loopy.”

“Not loopy,” Aziraphale corrected, holding up a finger. “Like _you,_ angel."

" _Angel?_ ” Crowley exclaimed, just as he felt a jolt of clarity shoot through his arms and into the rest of him. “Oh!”

Crowley grinned widely, and pitched his voice up. “Oh, my dear boy. I do believe you’re onto something.” He folded his hands together. “Is a full swap in order?”

“Full swap,” Aziraphale confirmed, nodding fervently. “Two souls, two bodies. Even swap.” He held a hand out, just like when Crowley had convinced him to be a godfather over a decade ago. “Nothing to it, angel. Not like I haven’t been watching you for six thousand years.” Crowley very nearly saw stars when the angel shot him a wink.

The demon grabbed the outstretched hand tightly, feeling a warm energy buzzing through his body. “Right then,” he said. “Let’s see if we’re lucky enough bastards to survive this, eh?” And then he felt, in the least painful way possible, like he was tearing at the seams.

-

That night, Crowley had the most vivid dreams.

He was there on the garden wall, looking out over the vast deserts. He had a damning - or rather, an _unfortunate_ \- lightness on his waist, and a rising tension in his chest. _Anxiety._ That was a new one.

He watched the humans head off into the cruel world with only their fig leaves and his flaming sword. He twiddled his thumbs aggressively, feeling more and more caught in his worry, until he heard something softly shifting behind him.

That was the first time they met, or so he remembered it. The Serpent, the Tempter, the demon Crawly. Then, Crowley - that name stuck. Over the years the ridiculous, fantastic demon had tacked on more bits and pieces, but they all belonged to Crowley. A million names for his demon.

They’d had different forms over the years, the both of them. His demon’s eyes were a blessing in that way. Of course, he could always tell who his demon was by his aura, but there was something comforting about the knowledge that he would always have those brilliant eyes. Like twin stars, like the inside of some fresh fruit, like a warm flame in a cold night. 

In an odd way, it was the most human part of him. He would walk with a slither - snaking around Aziraphale thought to himself - and lean at unimaginable angles and fling himself haphazardly into chairs as though none of the nerves in his corporation worked at all. But those eyes, that face… they were always expressive. So full of _love_ , of compassion, of mischief, though Crowley would probably only stand to be called that last one, and only barely.

Not that Aziraphale wanted him to be human, not in the real sense of it. Humans were amazing, wonderful, full of free will, but they were fragile. Ephemeral. Beautiful, but here one minute and gone the next like melting snow. They didn’t really exist on the same timeline as the two of them - the angel and his demon. 

He was in a field of swirling emotion given life in brilliant color. Red and gold and black and beige and brilliant blue. He was in a sea of blue, and he drowned in it as it filled his lungs, but it felt good. Right and warm. _Flashes of love_. It filled him until he thought he might break, until it _hurt_ , but he didn’t want it to end. He grabbed it all close, scrambling for it, pulling it nearer and nearer until he made a shape of it, until he felt solid, until he could feel nothing but soft sunlight. Until he could smell nothing but parchment and sugar and solid and…

_Oh._ It was really quite a lot.

-

Crowley woke up, flicking his tongue out to taste something he’d all but forgotten. His eyes snapped open when nothing came to him, and he sat upright. He felt woozy, and his tongue felt wrong, blunt. He went to touch it but froze. The hand in front of him was soft and perfectly manicured. 

There was a weight on his legs. He glanced down. _Somebody_ , had he been discorporated? Surely he hadn’t drunk that much. But there he was, face down on the couch, his ginger hair mussed up and his sunglasses fallen on the ground and his spindly limbs stretching every which way.

But… if he was dead, how was his body still _breathing?_

His heart - _Aziraphale’s heart_ \- jumped into his throat. It had _worked_.

“Brilliant bloody bastard,” he hissed - well, whispered - as a grin broke across his face. The voice would need some work, he decided. Ah, but he was still himself inside, he could feel it. Bubbling to the surface was the urge to mess with his angel, insuppressible no matter the form he took.

“Crowley,” Crowley whispered, pitching up his voice. He shook the shoulders of the… of the Aziraphale on his lap. “Crowley, wake up!” The angel started to stir, lazily flicking his tongue out. Crowley felt his ears burn at the thought of Aziraphale smelling him. _Goodness,_ this corporation was prone to embarrassment. It was a miracle that Aziraphale managed to be such a bastard through all that.

And the angel spake, “Ngk,” rubbing his borrowed eyes. “How much did we drink? I feel like I might snap in two.” The angel stared drowsily at Crowley through demonic eyes.

“My dear, I don’t think it worked,” Crowley said with affected distress. The face he was looking at did something weird, and Crowley realized he was no good at reading his own expressions. How odd. “I -- _oof!_ ”

He was cut off as Aziraphale launched himself into Crowley’s [2]arms. “How could you not know how much I love you? You foolish boy!”

“Oh,” Crowley said, which was apparently how Aziraphale’s body preferred to say ‘Ngk.’ His ears burned wildly and he dropped all pretense of trying to mess with his angel. “I uh… Wot are you going on about?”

“I… I had this amazing, wild dream, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, running long fingers through his ginger hair. “About us. About _you_. I _was_ you.” He pulled away, his face full of pain, but kept his hands locked around Crowley’s wrists. His face was full of pain. Now _that_ was a look Crowley recognized. “And I really must apologize for my behaviour these past few thousand years. The fact that you didn’t know that… that you could have possibly doubted how much I care for you.” Tears welled up in his yellow eyes, and he placed a hand on Crowley’s cheek. It may have been nicer if he’d been receiving the touch from Aziraphale’s own corporation, but Crowley still leaned into it. 

“And you _specifically_ , not just… not just as a general member of everything. I am so, so sorry, my dear.”

“Oh, Er, it’s… it’s alright,” Crowley said, looking away. His voice was short and stuttery, and he recognized it. _You go to fast for me._ His hands trembled in his lap as he resisted the urge to pick up his sunglasses and slip them on over his blue eyes.

“It isn’t,” Aziraphale insisted. He grabbed the demon’s hands, drawing them close. “But we will make up for it. I promise you that.” He kissed the demon’s hands, and he trembled slightly. “Once we work this out, we’ll make up for all that time.”

Crowley looked into his own face, saw the unwavering love and devotion of his angel shining through, and decided to believe in something one more time.

-

Entering the bookshop was difficult.

There were no more flames, of course. He’d been right - Adam had put everything back the way it had been. Well, to the very best of his abilities, and with a few artistic [3] liberties.

Still, Crowley felt unnaturally stiff as he walked through the aisles. He folded his hands in front of himself tightly - that’s how his angel would show his anxiety, anyways. He glanced down at the spot on the floor where the fire hose had blasted him. Where he’d cursed the world and all the kingdoms thereof for taking his only friend from him.

He took a steadying breath. No time for this now. He had a date.

-

It was very nearly a picnic, Crowley thought with tense humor. Ice cream and a stroll. Like some sort of mobile picnic.

Aziraphale paid for them. As he watched, Crowley decided he really did look rather cool with those sunglasses. The demon tried and failed to stop himself from pacing shoulder to shoulder behind the angel, keeping an eye out for any sign of trouble.

Of course, in the end, it didn’t help. He was grabbed and gagged from behind by the angels while Aziraphale was distracted by death, and could do nothing as his angel was whacked from behind with a crowbar by Hastur. The bastard.

Crowley’s - well, Aziraphale’s trial, as it was important everyone believe - was a joke. There was no judge, no evidence presented, no opportunity to even speak his piece. He did his best to keep a straight face as the spire of Hellfire rose to the ceiling. _Now_ Heaven and Hell decided it was alright to fraternize with the opposition. What a joke.

It had felt pretty bloody good to spit fire in that prick Gabriel’s face, though.

-

After it was all over, they had dinner at the Ritz.

They spent hours talking. Well, mostly Aziraphale talked and Crowley listened.

It’s how he preferred it, really. He could just sit back and bask in his angel’s warmth, like he’d basked in the Eden sun all those years ago. Except now, he knew that the sun shone for him, specifically.

“And you should have _seen_ the looks on their faces, my dear,” the angel bubbled. “With me splashing around in the holy water like that. They thought either I was going crazy, or _they_ all were.” he laughed. “And I know I’ve said it about a million times, but,” here he leaned forward conspiratorially, a brilliant flame flickering behind his eyes, “It felt so _good_ to order Micheal around like that.” He rested a hand on the table between them and continued on.

Crowley was listening, of course, but it was more to the rhythm and song of his angel’s voice than the words. Right now, he was thinking about his dream, about all the love Aziraphale had held for Crowley for thousands of years. He held the memory so close until he felt warm inside.

With a steadying breath, Crowley reached forward and laid his hand over the angel’s. Aziraphale smiled brilliantly at him, not hesitating an instant before flipping his own hand around so he could lock them together, palm to palm. As Crowley felt their warmth flow freely between them, he thanked Somebody that he’d been so lucky as to belong in love with this beautiful, amazing, brilliant bastard[4]

\----

_Footnotes_

1 Crowley did, in fact, feel quite drunk. However, that was most likely due to the buzzing physical contact as opposed to the angry old grapes he was drinking. [return to text]

2 Aziraphale’s? It was Aziraphale’s corporation, but Crowley was the one behind the wheel, as it were. [return to text]

3 Antichrist-ic? [return to text]

4 Thank Aziraphale, really. Everything good came back to Aziraphale. [return to text]


End file.
